


Make Me

by papipachie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, First Time, M/M, Rough Sex, Sherlock is THIRSTY, Y'ALL ALREADY KNOW WHAT IT IS, as they say, gay lads, i am not intimate with Sherlock so pardon me, i was not raised across the pond, john is a butt virgin, so the lingo will be dinky, some of the tag suggestions for sherlock go hard, well not anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 13:11:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15752367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papipachie/pseuds/papipachie
Summary: John makes Sherlock show him just how much he cares about him.





	Make Me

**Author's Note:**

> howdy it's late fellas, and even though I just finished Sherlock I honestly can't remember half of what happened. Which?? Isn't good because you need to be fucking balls-deep in this series like goddamn-  
> All I know is the gay moments got to me and. Well. Porn ensues.  
> This also isn't proofread at all.

     “Make me.” Dr. John Watson said stubbornly, crossing his arms and planting himself solidly in front of the other man.

     That other man was Sherlock Holmes, who stared at his companion with disinterest.

     “Don’t be silly John, we have a case to attend to.” he strode forward, fully expecting John to move out of his way. He was instead met with the soldier’s strong, broad chest crashing against his own. Sherlock looked down, this time with a little more contempt in his sharp grey gazze. “You’re being childish. Move.”

     “Make. Me.” John hissed through gritted teeth. 

     “I can’t believe you told all those people. Not me. God forbid you tell your  _ only  _ friend about your plans to fake your own death.” he gave a short, heavy exhale. “And even now, you won’t fully tell me why-mmph!”

Sherlock abruptly took John’s face into his hands and smashed his thin lips against his friend’s. The detective parted, still cupping the blond’s cheeks.

     “Bloody hell!” John swore, jerking back a few steps. He lost his rigid stance and raised a hand to his sore lips. He stared at Sherlock for a moment, who was completely composed. “Would it have killed you to be a bit gentler?”

     “You look even less intelligent when you’re angry. And even more annoying.” Sherlock said briskly. “Well, I did make you move. Now can we leave?”

     John faltered, then straightened up again, squaring his shoulders. “No. I’m not moving until you tell me why I was left in the dark for so long.”

     Sherlock sighed, glaring up at the ceiling before returning his gaze to John.

     “Don’t make me say it.” Sherlock’s voice was close to a pained groan.

     “Say what?” John asked, knitting his brow and dropping his arms to his sides.

     “I left you in the dark because I,” Sherlock hesitated, pursing his thin, rosy lips together. “Because I care about you too much.”

     “You what now?” John took a hard look at his partner, squinting his eyes.

     “Oh for God’s sake  _ accept  _ the answer!” Sherlock threw his hands up. “Yes. I, Sherlock Holmes, clever master of cold and logical reason,  _ care  _ for you, Doctor John Watson. An irrational amount, I might add.” he admitted.

     “Yeah.” John agreed, staring at him intently. “Clearly. Enough to kiss me, if you could even call it that.”

     “People do it like that on the telly all the time.” Sherlock reasoned.

     “That’s the  _ telly.  _ I knew it was a mistake getting you into crap shows.” John put his hands on his hips.

     “I suppose I could try it again.” Sherlock replied carelessly. Before John could either protest or accept, the man grabbed his face again and pressed his lips to John’s, almost carefully.

     “You’re like a stone wall.” John said softly as they parted. A hush fell over the room. “Cold and static.”

     Sherlock seemed disgruntled. “First I’m too hard, then I’m too still. I think you’re just trying to discredit me.”

     “Sherlock, I…” John sighed. “I’m engaged to Mary. I can’t do this.”

     “Yes, you can’t.” the dark-haired man agreed. “But you want to.”

     “What?” John held out his hands, taken aback.

     “Pupils are dilated-”

     “It’s dark in here.”

     Sherlock eyed the slight sheen on John. “You’re beginning to sweat,”

     “No I’m not.” John snapped, hand flying up to his forehead.

     “Your cheeks are red and you’re swallowing more than usual.” Sherlock pointed to John’s adam’s apple with a confident index finger. “That’s not a biological sign of arousal, but you’ve done it in the past with the various women you’ve dated.”

     “You can’t do this, but you want to.” Sherlock repeated, voice a bit quieter than usual. “I must admit, I want to do this as well.” he stepped closer to John, noting with satisfaction that his throat bobbed. 

     Silence followed. 

     “Fine. Show me your glorious way of kissing, then.” Sherlock invited.

     When John looked up at Sherlock again, a hint of playfulness twinkled in his summer sky eyes. 

     “Make me.”

     The corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitched up and he drew closer to John, slowly wrapping his long arms around the shorter man’s waist. He steered him towards the wall, pressing John against it. Sherlock leaned in, elegant fingers popping open the first few buttons of John’s dress shirt. He splayed the cool digits over John’s warm skin, making the latter shiver just a tad. John’s hands hesitantly rest on Sherlock’s chest, thumbs wrapping around the lapels of his dense wool coat as he slowly fists his hands in it.

     All at once the quiet, albeit tense atmosphere dissipates, rushed out by some unruly and chaotic gust of wind. The wind is fierce and passionate and colors John’s cheeks and makes the tips of Sherlock’s ears a pretty pink that matches his lips, barely visible beneath pillowy dark curls. Sherlock’s bright mercury eyes focus on John’s sapphire ones with force and unrestrained passion, wanting to kiss him hard but waiting for John’s signal. It was an impressive display of restraint, given how Sherlock Holmes almost never denies his impulse. 

     “Screw it.” he mutters. John finally, finally,  _ finally  _ leans in, softly pressing his lips shyly against Sherlock’s.

     “I see what you mean.” Sherlock murmured, velvety baritone contrasting against the pressured air. The detective leads the next kiss, slotting their lips together just as they should be, like the final clue of a murder that perfectly solves the case. John is so warm against him, leaving Sherlock to wonder if he’s as chilly as he acts or if John just runs hot. Either way, he finds himself melting into the warmth, craving more of it. His graceful fingers crawl along the buttons of John’s shirt, for the first time fumbling getting them open as his composure gradually slips. John lifts his head to the ridge of Sherlock’s jaw, pressing his lips against the pale smoothness. He drags his lips slow, so slow down Sherlock’s long neck, savoring the scent of crisp paper and fresh linens. It  _ really  _ wasn’t helping the man’s efforts to get John’s shirt off. 

     Luckily, the blonde seems to sense it, chuckling against Sherlock’s delicate neck. “Let me help you with that.” his voice is low and raspy. He easily unbuttons his shirt, pressing hot kisses to Sherlock’s neck, mouthing along his sharp clavicle. He dares to lick at the hollow between them, and Sherlock makes a noise akin to a groan. John  _ adores  _ it, and he finds himself wanting to hear more and more of the all the sweet sounds his companion has to offer. 

     The dark-haired man seems to remember his imagined place in the dynamic, and becomes that much more aggressive, especially since John accepted his kiss. Sherlock takes advantage of the wall behind them, caging John with his lanky arms and pushing his knee in between John’s thighs. 

     His kisses become harder against John’s reddened mouth, and when that doesn’t seem to sate him, he ducks down to suck at John’s neck. The veteran is much more willing to make noise, as he grunts, his body tensing and grabbing Sherlock’s waist hard enough to bruise. Sherlock could feel John flushing with every kiss he laid on the plane of sensitive skin laid out before him like a wondrous feast of soft, sweet flesh. Sharp teeth scrape at John’s neck, quickly joined by a wet tongue as Sherlock seeks to touch every inch of John he can get. 

     “I need more.” Sherlock says quickly. “Closer.” he encroaches more on John, large hands grabbing a handful of his arse. One that he had stolen glances at more than he cared to say. John’s breath stutters in his chest, and to recover, he kisses Sherlock again, long and deep. His tongue prods at the seam of those perfect pink lips, and the detective willingly obliges. Sherlock seizes control again, practically shoving his tongue down John’s throat, trying to satiate the uncontrollable craving for more and more and _ more  _ of John Watson. 

     “I think we’d better get somewhere more comfortable.” Sherlock practically growls, hot breath ghosting over the shell of John’s ear. He tongues the rim until he gets to the lobe, which he bites. John yelps, jerking upright and a groan gets caught in his throat. Somehow he manages to nod, and Sherlock grabs him. John wants nothing more than to pick up Sherlock, but he’s a little short to hold the entirety of the man’s svelte form. Sherlock wants to sweep John off his feet, but his gangly body is insufficient. John, however, finds a way, helped by Sherlock, who quite literally jumps onto him, wrapping his long legs tightly around John’s waist and grabbing his shoulders with taut forearms. John grunts with effort, his arms gripping Sherlock’s thighs to support the sudden new weight on him. It’s a miracle the two don’t topple into a hot, writhing mess of lust and limbs.

     At this new vantage point, Sherlock hungrily bites and kisses and licks at John’s neck, ignoring the loud, wet noises the two are making. 

     Finally, a moan oozes out of John’s throat, and he pants, “Sherlock, quit movin’...w-we’re both gonna fall,” he slurs around the tongue invading his mouth. “Q-quit! Hang on a second.”

     He staggers to the bedroom and lets their weight fall onto the mattress. Sherlock wastes no time in crawling on top of his love, practically ripping his trousers off while John works the coat off of Sherlock’s sharp shoulders. In record speed, the two are naked, hands all over each other, exploring never-before-seen skin and body parts. Sherlock focuses on creating as many purple marks and bites on John’s chest as possible, pausing only to claw open his bedside drawer to grasp a bottle of lube.

     “C-Can’t believe,” John gasped as Sherlock’s hot mouth was all over his left nipple. “You actually h-ha! Have this stuff…” he trails off.

     Sherlock grabs John’s hips, pulling the man closer and angling them upwards. “I am merely prepared.” he grunts, unscrewing the cap as quickly as possible and gushing the slick gel onto his nimble fingers.

     “I-I uh, I’ve never done this before.” John’s somewhat worried voice breaks through Sherlock’s frantic lust, the blonde clutching at one of the detective’s wiry biceps.

     “I’ll be gentle.” he tenderly cups John’s face with the hand currently not covered in lubricant. A smirk twists his reddened lips up. “And memorable.”

     John huffs out a laugh, allowing himself to relax under Sherlock. His cold thumb gently rubs against John’s entrance, the other four fingers running up and down his perineum soothingly. Sherlock’s tongue lightly rasps at John’s pecs before latching onto the other pert, dusky pink nipple. He sucked, savoring the the slightly sweaty, intimate flavor of John. He groaned, chest heaving up into Sherlock’s warm, wet mouth. He nuzzled affectionately at the wiry blonde hairs peppering John’s chest. John, in return, stroked the unruly mop of black curls at his torso, sucking in a breath as Sherlock buried the second finger in his ass. The man between his legs paused to slick his fingers up again. The breath almost left John completely as Sherlock looked up, pinning him with a powerful mercury gaze, his eyes glinting like a cat’s in the yellowish light of the bedroom. The sight of his partner, crouched hungrily in front of him like a hunter, his knife cheekbones and razor jaw dusted with red, and long, dripping cock bobbing between his sinewy thighs was enough to make John whisper,

     “I want you inside me.”

     Sherlock gave him a grin that was all teeth and predatory salaciousness and he placed his long-fingered hands on John’s muscled hips, a silent command for him to turn over. John readily obeyed, and Sherlock grabbed the pillows carelessly shoved against the headboard and tucked them under John, making his supple arse stick out a bit. Sherlock grabbed the cheeks and spread them shamelessly, making John yelp at the rough treatment. Sherlock made circular passes with his thumbs on the soft flesh lovingly, then lined up with John’s virgin hole. 

     “Remember to relax, darling.” Sherlock purred in John’s ear, nibbling at the side of his neck. He moaned quietly at the light stings of pain on his skin. Sherlock had to restrain himself again as he plunged his swollen cock into John’s tight heat, holding him like a vice.

     John moaned at the dick filling him up, tucking his arms under his chest to brace himself on the mattress. 

     “Are you alright?” Sherlock’s liquid velvet voice came from behind him again.

     “N-No,” John ground out. “‘Cause you’re not movin’.” he wiggled his hips, and Sherlock raised his brows, another smile slinking onto his pink lips and stretching his curvy Cupid’s bow.

     “Pardon me, I’ll fix that right,” he drew back, just so the tip of his head was barely in John’s arsehole. “ _ Now!”  _ he jerked his hips back in,  _ hard,  _ and John keened, shoulder blades flexing beneath his flushed skin. Sherlock began to thrust, the head of his cock brushing against John’s prostate every time, all too much yet not enough. John’s cock leaked profusely, sandwiched between his stomach and the pillow. John began rocking with Sherlock’s long, hard thrusts, moans oozing out of them both. 

     Sherlock pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to John’s back muscles, flexing under his ministrations. He buried his hands beneath John’s torso, pulling him yet closer. Sherlock leaned forward so John’s back was pressed against his pale chest. He rubbed himself against John, using this new vantage point to roll his hips in and out of John’s arse in immensely satisfying gyrations. Sherlock sunk his teeth into John’s shoulder, eliciting a filthy whimper from the blonde as he etched love bites into John’s sweet skin. 

     The detective licked his lips, finally letting go of his restraint. He pounded into John’s arsehole as though he were going to  _ die  _ without violently orgasming into his best friend’s slick, sloppy heat.

     John gave a high-pitched whine as the bedframe creaked sharply in protest, the headboard smacking against the wall. Somewhere beyond John’s current thoughts, a voice said  _ ‘you’re going to leave marks on the paint’ _ , but it was hardly important. Not when an Adonis of a man is reaming your ass like there was no tomorrow. 

     Sherlock pistoned into John, his narrow hips like a jackhammer as he fervently fucked his partner. John arched his back up into Sherlock’s chest, strangled moans catching in his throat.

     John nearly screamed, his voice cracking as his stomach tightened, his orgasm rolling onto him suddenly, like a tsunami crashing onto shore. “O-Oh  _ fuck!  _ Sh-Sherlock!” the pillow and his stomach grew moist with his release.

     “Yes, that’s my name.” Sherlock snarled, impaling himself inside John to come inside the hot tightness gripping his cock. Cum spilled from his dick and into John’s arse. When Sherlock pulled his softening dick from John’s entrance, the veteran whimpered softly.

     Sherlock licked his lips as he took in the sight of his spent partner. His normally neat hair was rumpled, and the hair on the back of his neck was darker and slick with sweat. Cum dripped from John’s quivering, empty arsehole and down his trembling thighs. John, looking distinctly more tired, turned his head to look at Sherlock, his sapphire eyes lidded and heady and cheeks ruddy. Sherlock saved the delicious image in his mind palace.

     “Be right back.” the detective pressed a kiss to the back of John’s neck, sliding off of the bed. He ducked into the bathroom, grabbing a flannel and wetting it with warm water. He tenderly cleaned the cum from John’s arse and stomach, tossing the pillowcase into the laundry. After he wiped the both of them off, he crawled back into bed.

     “May I sleep with you?” Sherlock asked, pillowing his arms beneath his head and looking at a sleepy John.

     “You just did.” John replied teasingly, voice slightly slurred around the edges. That elicited a quiet chuckle out of the both of them, and John grabbed the sheet, tossing it over himself and Sherlock. “C’mere.” he held the arm that wasn’t under the pillow out to Sherlock, and the detective rolled into John’s strong, warm embrace.

     Sleep came easy to them both.

**Author's Note:**

> Probably should've posted this under my pseud, which was made for fandoms I'm not very familiar with, but I'm tired and indecisive. Thank you for reading!


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